


Prince of the Light, King of the Dark

by lysanatt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Fantasy, M/M, Romance, Sam/Lucifer - Freeform, past Dean/Lisa - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 20:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4193547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>NOTE: On hiatus, but not abandoned!</b> <br/>For the first time in more than a thousand years, the Dark Land opens its borders for an ambassador from the Light Land. Prince Dean, envoy of Sam, present king of the Light, has his theories about the Dark Land and its ruler, Death. Of course they turn out to be very, very wrong. Romance AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Time to Die

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meinposhbastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/gifts).



> For Meinposhbastard who wanted "AU. Death is the ruler of the Land that is prohibited to humans. Dean is his (hah) human Advisor. The only one in the entire country. Romance and Death wooing Dean (subtly)."
> 
> This fic was - as usual - meant to be a short ficlet. And - as usual - that didn't go so well. Expect at least five more chapters and around 30K. Go me.
> 
> M-rated for later chapters.

"May the Light travel with you and bring you wisdom."

"And may the Darkness embrace you and give you peace." 

Sam has tears in his eyes as he takes a step forward, his hand in Dean's. "Dean, I..." His face is hidden in the shadows of the huge oak that spreads its lush crown above their heads and the crossroads. Birds are singing; the day is a beautiful summer's day, and it makes their goodbye so much more hard, that they must part on such a pleasant day. 

"It's fine, Sammy. When the God of Darkness asks, I go. If I don't..." If he doesn't, it might mean war. They have no way of knowing since no human has been allowed entrance to the Dark Land for over a thousand years. 

"But you should—"

"No, Sam. _You_ are the king of the Light Land now, and you have the Morning Star at your side. I might not like your consort much, but he _is_ the Light God, despite being of the Dark. I'll do better at the God of Darkness' court than sitting here, wondering what Lucifer's realm looks like. And possibly also what is wrong with it since it produces assholes such as your spouse. It's so like you, dammit, taking a frigging _god_ as your husband, and someone banned from his mysterious country to boot." 

Sam presses his lips together, still a little teary-eyed as he releases Dean. Dean's going to hit him if he apologizes again. He is tired of apologies. It's not every day the Light God's avatar shows up at your doorstep and asks for asylum. Not an everyday occurrence, either, that said avatar falls in love with the human king that happens to be the one who decides whether he can stay or go. There is nothing to apologize for, in Dean's opinion; Sam can't help it. He's in love. 

Dean is not as impressed with the Light God. The people call Lucifer the Morning Star because they think he came from the dark to shine brightly on the morning sky, as if Sam was the sun king and they were somehow made for each other. Right. Dean sends the offending Light God a glare that could have killed lesser avatars. 

Lucifer simply seems amused. "You and my ancient uncle are going to get along fine. May the Darkness be with him, and the Light and all that. I suppose I should thank you for your sacrifice."

"Don't bother, Morning Star. I'm curious by nature."

"Curious to go where no human has gone before?"

"Or stupid enough. And humans have visited before, so says the myths. And you." 

Lucifer laughs. "Or stupid enough. I suppose I should be grateful. This exchange of a... I don't know. My beloved uncle has his own agendas, but at least we're communicating. It has been some time. To be honest, I'm not sure what he wants. With you, I mean."

Dean has no idea why he's going, either, other than the God of Death demanded it. Not Dean _per se_ ; the Dark God wanted a _man or woman of good family and standing, and of righteous nature_. Nobody contradicts the most powerful god, the most powerful being in the universe. The envoy that the Dark God sent them when he — Gods knows how — heard about Lucifer's wedding is a polite but stern man. Unfortunately Ambassador Ajay of the Dark is about as open and informative about the Dark God's motives as a closed, locked and bolted door.

"They called it an _ambassador_. Adviser. I don't think they mean to kill me," Dean says. 

"At least not right away," Lucifer says. He has a decidedly smug, annoying smirk plastered on his smug, annoying face. "They might reconsider when they get to know you."

"I know that feeling," Dean says and glares pointedly at Sam's arrogant husband. "Contrary to you, I am going willingly. Nobody kicked _me_ out." The Dark God has, despite his obscure agendas, been quite clear about his relationship with Lucifer. The Light God is not welcome in the Dark Land, no explanation as to why has been given.

" _Touché_. Now go away. You're upsetting the king, and at least we can agree that neither of us want that. We should probably appreciate that we have that in common: we both love Sam. And like you, I will kill anyone who tries to hurt him." Lucifer's face is fierce, but he makes a small sigh when he turns and looks at Sam. He takes a moment, lost in his obvious adoration of the King of the Light Land. He turns to Dean, almost reluctant to stop looking at Sam. "Give my uncle my regards. Maybe he'll believe it if it comes from you, Winchester."

Dean doesn't care to correct Lucifer, insisting that he uses Dean's title in public as a bare minimum of politeness. There is a risk that Dean will never see Lucifer again, or Sam, and Dean doesn't want to taint their moment of goodbye with a row with the Light God. Dean nods, a gracious greeting from a ruler to the lowest of his citizens. "Goodbye, Lucy."

Sam interferes. "Could you at least keep your peace for five minutes? I don't think that's too much to demand from adult men, noblemen who should know better."

"Of course." Lucifer bows mockingly. "I wish you a safe journey, _Prince_ Dean." 

Lucifer walks to his horse, not looking back, leaving Sam and Dean to their final goodbyes.

"So this is really farewell." 

Dean thinks Sam's starting the waterworks again. "I have to go, Sam. There's a ship is waiting for me."

"I know. Send messages if you are able. Or if you are in need of anything."

 _If he's in need of help_ is what Sam means. Dean hopes it doesn't go that far. All they know about the Dark Land and its ruler is based on old wives' tales and on what little Lucifer told them; the Dark Land is unexplored territory, at least for them. Dean doesn't think that any help, short of an army led by Lucifer, is going to do much to help him and his small entourage. No one trying to cross the Sea of Mist has ever lived to tell the tale, their bodies found at the Light Land's shores, unharmed but very, very dead.

"I will. I'll send you one final message when I'm about to board."

"Yes." Sam's eyes are sad. "Be careful, Dean."

"I will. We'll meet again, my king." Dean bows, a final formal goodbye to the brother he loves above anything in the world. "Goodbye, Sam."

*

They change horses at an inn. Dean would have preferred to keep his horse, but there's no way around it, Impala cannot travel with the speed that they manage with fresh horses every five or six hours. He leaves her, fighting back tears, a stable boy ready to lead her back to Winchester Castle. It's a bittersweet goodbye. Impala is old; he'll never see her again, but at least she'll be alive, no matter what happens to his small band of travelers.

Although Dean has managed to pretend that everything is fine, he isn't so sure what will happen to him in the Dark Land. He's going to be a hostage, he knows it. Lucifer prefers not to speak of the realm he left. The Light God would never lie to Sam, that much Dean has understood. Lucifer and the Dark God's ambassador had somehow reached an understanding that they kept information about the Dark realm on a need to know basis; the only thing they seemed to agree upon. Dean suspects, though, that when it comes to the Dark Land, Lucifer might be lying by omission. Lucifer's silence hasn't been helpful. Ambassador Ajay is staying at the Light court, so perhaps in time, Sam'll get to know more about their obscure neighbor, not that any of that is helping Dean now.

As for Lucifer, Dean's sure that the Dark God kicked him out of the realm for trying to incite a revolt or for making an attempt to usurp the throne. Now Lucifer has one, a throne, and he seems content with ruling with Sam as a prince of the Light Land. But there is this... discontent in Lucifer that tells Dean that he might not have been as pliant back in the Dark Land and under the rule of his father and uncle. Lucifer is a spoiled child. Yeah, Dean would have kicked Lucifer out of his kingdom, too, if he hadn't abdicated and left the throne to Sam. Except he wouldn't have, because exiling Lucifer would have torn Sam's heart into pieces. As for Lucifer and Sam, it was a done deal the moment they laid eyes on each other. Besides, the Light Land is in better hands with Sam. Dean would've been a lousy king. Apart from dealing with Lucifer, abdicating and running off to become an ambassador slash hostage in a land that is probably dark and gloomy and disgusting, the deal is somewhat okay. At least someone more suited to rule the Light Land is now actually ruling it. 

It might be a good thing that Dean has lost all desire to ride when he left Impala at the inn. He has too much to think about to be alert enough to sit astride a horse he doesn't know. He is both sad and irritated, in too bad a mood to be good company for anyone. Somehow the dull interior of the luxurious wagon they've brought fits his mood. He could be out there, in the summer-green, sweet-smelling forest, hawking and hunting boar. And now he's here, already a prisoner by his own volition, his only company a young boy who, like Dean, has sacrificed everything, almost everything to do the Dark God's bidding. 

"To think I abdicated to end up like a glorified hostage," Dean says to no one in particular. Mostly because there is no one to hear him complain, apart from Ben, which is how Dean wants it. 

His page boy nods. "Do you think Prince Lucifer would lie to you?" Ben asks.

"I think a vast array of unpleasant things about my brother's consort, Ben, but I have yet to catch him in a lie." Dean sits silent, watching the landscape as the carriage horses groan and pull the heavy carriage forward. "No, I don't think he lies. There are things he doesn't tell, sure, but he loves Sam too much to lie to him if Sam asks him directly. But it has been years since the God of Light has been in the Dark Lands, so what Lucifer knows to be the truth, might no longer be valid. Dean watches his son and he realizes that Ben is afraid. "Don't worry, Ben." Dean leans over to caress Ben's cheek reassuringly. "Why would they hurt us? Even if they won't treat us as equals, we're still worth something to them. They wouldn't have asked for an ambassador, someone to act on behalf of the Light Land if we weren't worth their while. Trust me, we are worth a lot to them."

Ben's face falls. "Do you think I'll ever see Mom again?"

Dean sighs. He shouldn't have let Ben come. Like Lucifer, Dean doesn't want to lie. He probably should lie to make Ben feel better, but he is too clever to fall for it. He is his son after all. "I don't know. I hope so. The Dark God asked for a diplomat. I don't think he'd do that if he didn't want to establish some kind of contact with the Light Land."

"Why now?"

"You can still go back if you want." 

"Dad, no."

"Your mother—"

"No."

"By all gods, if there ever was any doubt that you're mine..." 

Dean was never in doubt, although Lisa had denied it at first. She'd probably been worried he'd take Ben from her, what with Ben being the illegitimate son to a king of the Light Land. As they sit there in the rocking carriage, on their way to an unknown destiny, Dean understands that she was right; he might have wanted to take Ben away to keep him at court. And now he has gone and done it, taken Ben away -- very, very far away. The choice, however, had been Ben's, and if Lisa had insisted, Dean would have told Ben no. But Lisa didn't. Lisa was... Dean sighs. If only Lisa hadn't refused him when he suggested that he could take her as his wife, the throne and Lisa's commoner background be damned. But it was Lisa, and of course she had refused. It had been a long time since then. They were friends now, happily sharing the responsibility for their son. _Page Benjamin, Prince Dean's illegitimate son_ , but his son nevertheless. 

Maybe he shouldn't have allowed Ben to come, but Dean had left everything for Sam's sake and for his country. Bringing Ben had been selfish, but it was one last thing that Dean allowed himself, one last memory of what he once was: heir to the Light throne, crown prince of Winchester. The coming of the God of Light's avatar had changed all that; Lucifer's marriage to Sam took precedence, and Dean had been somewhat relieved; he'd rather drink, hunt and play than rule the Light realm. So when the Dark God had demanded that the Light sent him an ambassador, the choice hadn't been difficult. Dean had agreed immediately; Sam would not be able to deal with the guilt of ordering one of the nobles to go, and Dean volunteered so that King Samuel of the Light Land had an ambassador in the Dark Land that had no other agenda than Sam's best interest. It was still all about Sam. 

It was always about Sam. 

And a good reason for that: Sam was a much better king, more powerful than Dean could ever be, especially with the marriage band between the Light God and the Light Land. It had been more than a thousand years since one of the Light God's avatars had wed a ruler of the Light Land, completing the bond between the physical and the spiritual dimensions. It had also been a thousand years since the Light Land and the Dark had any diplomatic connections; from what Lucifer had told, the Dark had closed their borders to prevent him from coming back. For some reason the Dark God and the First God never opened them again.

Until now. For him. For Prince Dean, Ambassador to King Sam of the Light.

Dean's not sure he's too enthused about the honor. Or whether it is an honor at all, and not just a very skewed euphemism for 'captured, tortured and killed' by the Dark God.

The Dark God rules now, and has done so since his brother, the First God, disappeared. Not that Dean knows if this is actually true; it's what Lucifer told them. The Dark God rules over death and darkness, the counterpart to the Light God. It is in their prayers; they pray to the moon and the dusk, to the dawn and the sun, for one cannot exist without the other. So it is said, and Dean thinks it is true. There is no life without death, no light without dark. No good without evil. He wonders for the umpteenth time that day what it'll be like, in the Dark; whether it is cold and gloomy and ugly, or if it is some odd dimension that he can barely comprehend. The Dark God must think that he can survive there, though. But the Light Land is the realm that is meant for humans; the Dark is the land of the gods.

The carriage rolls on, creaking and swaying and groaning. The old road is not built for royal wagons such as this one. Dean pulls Ben into his arms. Ben falls asleep quickly, his worried, serious face smoothed by sleep and the constant rumble of the carriage's ironclad wheels against the paved road.

*

They travel fast, and the days become a blur of changing horses, short naps in the carriage, and fast, simple meals in cold inns. The weather is turning colder; fall is around the corner, and the nights are unpleasant. Ben is tired and the strain of fast traveling is ruthless enough to get to Dean, too.

So when they reach the sea that separates the Light Land from the Dark, Dean is relieved. He'd never thought he'd feel relief. In a few weeks it will be over. He doesn't have the energy to worry about what lies on the other side of the Sea of Mist. It might be worse, much worse, than three weeks of constant travel, but Dean doesn't care. He wants warm, well-prepared food, he wants a bed to sleep in, he wants to feel warm and clean. 

The air is cool and the wind stings when it blows a reminder of the Mist towards them. The smell of sea and drying seaweed is harsh in his nostrils, used as he is to the scent of the forest and the meadows, and of the flower gardens of Winchester Castle. Dean stares at the waves; they are snapping at the coast with white, sharp teeth. The shore is empty, but there is a galleon anchored a few hundred feet out. It looms there, huge and threatening; a tar-tainted ship with black sails. It looks ancient, but seaworthy, not that Dean would know; the only sailing he's ever done was in a small gondola on the calm River Winchester. 

"I don't like it," Ben says, stepping as close as he can without overstepping the respectful space there must be between master and servant, maybe out of some misconception that Dean actually cares now that he's no longer king. Ben is his son, no matter what.

"Don't do that," Dean says. "No need for pretense any longer." He turns to one of the servants. "Bring me my ermine cloak," he demands, and sighs in relief when the thick cloak is put on his shoulders. He wraps it around them, making it clear for everybody that Ben is more than his page boy. 

Ben shivers as he clings to Dean; they don't need to talk about it. Ben's afraid and cold, and Dean offers what little comfort he is able to give. He doesn't belittle Ben by asking him now, again, if he wants to return to his mother. Dean knows what the answer will be anyway. They are too alike, Ben and he, for him not to know.

Their arrival has started hurried activities on the ship off the shore. Sails are set and sailors lower a small cutter to the unruly water below. Ben and Dean watch in silence as the mainmast topgallant unfolds, showing what must be the God of Darkness' sigil emblazoned on the black linen: a silver scythe on black. It looks like the ship of doom.

Servants scuttle around, placing Dean's chests and Ben's belongings on the ground. They are, Dean thinks, eager to get away, as if the mere physical contact with the Dark Land's marine will pull them into the mist that separates the Light and the Dark. The tales are many, and so are the ships that have been lost there, in the impenetrable clouds.

The open cutter reaches the shore. Dean counts eight men at the oars, all clad in black, all wearing the God of Darkness' sigil on their surcoats. There's a woman with them; a small dark-haired girl, pretty. She doesn't look much like a demon or any of the monsters that the Dark Land are said to harbor. According to Lucifer, the Dark Land is joyless and drab, but with none of the monsters that the tales tell about. Then again, the Dark God kicked him out, so Lucifer's account might be a little colored and not particularly in favor of his uncle and his citizens.

The woman jumps off the boat, not caring that her long boots get drenched. She walks quickly across the wet sand.

"Prince Dean of the Light Land," she greets him, clearly deciding that Dean is the man she's looking for. "I am Tessa, envoy of Death, god and ruler of the Dark Land."

Dean bows to her. She still doesn't look much like a monster. "Greetings, Envoy Tessa of the Dark Land."

She pulls off a fur-lined glove and offers him a letter. "I bring you Death's greetings as well. My king looks forward to meeting you and to hear news from the Light Land."

Civilized. They are clearly civilized, demons or not, Dean thinks, somewhat relieved. Sure, they might eat or kill or enslave him when they arrive, but they are not the sinister, deformed monsters from the tales told at night to scare children or other sensitive beings. 

"You okay?" Dean asks Ben. 

"I'm _fine_." 

Dean laughs softly. Ben is annoyed. That's a good sign. "Tessa, this is Ben, Benjamin, my son. He wants to accompany me to the Dark Land. I assume that it is not inconvenient." Dean takes the parchment that bears the Dark God's seal, breaking it. The wax sprinkles Dean's breeches with blood-red little shards as he skims the formal letter. Dean reads and sneaks a few looks to gauge Tessa's reaction.

"Prince Benjamin." Tessa makes a polite nod in Ben's direction.

"I'm not a prince," Ben corrects her. He studies her with his head cocked. "You look like my mom. She is very strong and beautiful."

"Well, thank you, Ben. That is very kind of you to say so." Tessa smiles, but her smile fades when she looks at Dean. "Our ambassador did not mention a... your son. We... didn't know that Prince Dean had a son—"

"His mother and I are not married."

"Strange. I am not sure I understand." Tessa looks puzzled. "But let's hurry. The tide."

"Yes." Dean has no idea what he's agreeing to. It probably has to do with the Mist. "Ben?"

It's his last chance; there is no turning back when they're on the Dark God's ship. 

"Dad." Ben's expression says it all. The eye roll helps too.

"Fine. Let's go." Dean turns and takes one last look at the forest behind the desolate shore, one last look at the lush, summer-green trees, one last breath of salt-tainted, wood-scented air. He smiles at Tessa, but his eyes are sad and wet with tears. "We're ready."

*

It is with a sigh that Dean watches the shore disappear together with the homing pigeon that is struggling to get back to land with a last message to Sam. Tessa might have sensed that he wants to be alone; she has taken Ben with her to show him the ship. It's a four master galleon, equipped for war; whether it's supposed to be a threat, or that it is simply necessary to sail into the Mist, Dean doesn't know. The Dark Land has not waged war on the Light for a thousand years; it has simply shut its borders. It's probably not a threat. Dean's not sure whether he should feel better about that, seeing that they are about to sail into the Mist.

Dean stays until the coastline is but a narrow line in the horizon. Only then does he turn, heavy-hearted, directing his attention to the ship and the sailors. There's hectic activity; men setting all sails with some urgency. Dean's not sure what the many sail are for, but the ship picks up speed, as if it's necessary to delve quickly into the wall of white that towers before them. Dean, slightly unsteady; he hasn't found his sea legs yet, goes to find Tessa. Maybe she'll be more informative than Ambassador Ajay has been.

He finds her in the great cabin with Ben. Polished walnut and deep plum and greens make a nice and comfortable place: the Dark sure doesn't shy comfort. There are deep alcoves along the walls; little cozy dens filled with pillows and furs. The room smells vaguely of camphor and vanilla.

"How long's it going to take," Dean asks when Tessa turns to see who is entering the room. "The passage?"

"Depends." 

So no more informative than Ajay, then.

"Really?"

Tessa waves him over to a gilded table, the surface inlaid with gold and ebony in an elaborate pattern, more exquisite than anything that Dean has ever seen. The table is set with small bowls of delicacies and dried fruit. Golden cups, a carafe of red wine, silver knives. It's elegant, beautiful. He sits down next to Ben who's looking through a small chest with an array of instruments whose function eludes Dean. 

"The Mist is unpredictable," Tessa says. "It is there for a reason; connections between our realms are difficult at best; we're not _meant_ to cross between the world of Light and the world of Darkness. We are contrasts; but one is not supposed to exist without the other. The First God created the Mist to keep us separate. Only rebels against the natural order—"

"Such as Lucifer?"

"Such as Lucifer, yes, attempt to break the rules. But it is done now, and we have no choice but to... "

"You're afraid of what he'll do?"

"He is a god, Prince Dean. He was created to be a god of light; but he has darkness in him, and Death, our god of darkness, has... They were not... exactly friendly with each other."

"Ah." So Lucifer did rebel, leaving the Dark Land because of some conflict with the God of Darkness. "So that's why I'm here; to ensure Lucifer's good behavior?"

"No." 

Again with the information flow. Dean rolls his eyes.

"Everything will be revealed to you, Prince Dean, in time." Tessa takes the carafe and pours a cup for Dean and a smaller one for Ben. 

Dean hands Ben his cup before he grabs his own. The wine is gentle on the tongue, velvet soft and spiced with cinnamon. "It's good," Dean says and takes another sip. In the chair next to him Ben gulps down the mild wine in one long drink, and Dean is about to stop him, only it feels so hard to raise his hand, as if all his limbs have turned to lead. "What—"

Ben sinks down in his chair, unconscious. Dean tries to get up but he can't; he is soft and heavy and malleable. He cannot move. But his heart moves, rapid beats driven by fear and surprise. 

Tessa merely watches him with curiosity before she wiggles a finger. "Benny. Come."

A tall and bulky soldier steps out from the shadows of a dark corner. "Mistress?"

"This is Benny," Tessa says. "He'll help you prepare."

"Prepare?" 

"It's time to die."


	2. Time to Live

Dean comes to with a gigantic headache and a taste in his mouth like an unwashed goat with perspiration problems has died there. He is hungrier than he has ever been in his entire life. If only he could find the goat, he'd eat it, washed or not. Strangely enough he feels rested, as if his entire being has been reset in some way. "Ben?" he croaks, desperately trying to make sense of everything. His neck hurts too, and when he rubs it, there's a bandage on it. 

"Drink this, my friend," someone drawls. "It tastes like crap, but it's going to help." It's Benny, the bulky guard.

"Not going to drink anything you give me. Am I dead?"

"You were, and then you weren't."

Dean fights to sit. Somebody covered him with a heavy down comforter. He has no boots on. The comforter pools around his waist as he gets up, leaning against the cabin wall for support. It's cold. Dean looks down at his own naked chest. No tunic, either. Dean pulls the comforter back on, as high up around his neck as gravity allows him. The concoction that's held before him stinks worse than dead goat tastes and he suppresses the urge to smack the cup out of Benny's hand.

"What's that supposed to mean? And where's my son?"

"Ben's fine. He's up already; Mistress Tessa took him up to get some fresh air. You'll be fine too, it merely takes a little longer for the curse to fade since you're bigger. That's the explanation: for you to pass through the Mist, you needed to die. We — that'd be me and my men —we kill you before we go through, and we resurrect you when we're out. It's as easy as that."

"As easy as what? You mean I was really... really?"

"Yes. We are the Undead Guard. We are the only ones who can pass through the Mist alive. Sort of. 'Undead' is obviously as much an exaggeration as 'alive'. We are dead. Technically."

"You look very alive to me."

"We're vampires, Prince Dean. Dead." 

"Vampires?" Dean's eyes are probably twice their normal size. "Like in you bite people for blood? Vampires exist?" 

"Yes." Benny offers Dean the stinky mess again, pressing the cup into his hands. Dean suddenly isn't so hungry. He winces at the smell, staring at the unappetizing slush. "It's what we do. We kill the passengers, make them vampires to let them pass through the mist. And unless you want to stay a vampire, I suggest that you take your medicine. You won't be able to control your hunger. Problem is that if you drink from any human, just a drop of human blood, there is no turning back. Besides, the only human here is Ben. I gather you won't like that, either, draining your own son out of starvation. Now be a good boy and drink all of it."

"I'm a vampire?" Dean tries to wrap his mind around it all. "Thanks for telling me," he growls, " _before_ you did whatever it was you did." He rubs over the bandage. "You actually drank my blood? Drained me?"

"Yes. And you drank mine: we fed it to you when you were unconscious, otherwise you'd been more dead than me right now. The boring kind of dead." Benny is insisting, this time he takes Dean's hand and wraps it around the cup. "Drink before it loses its potency. Smells like sweaty feet, tastes worse. There's coffee and breakfast after."

"If I have any appetite left," Dean snorts and gives in. There's nothing else to do, since Ben and he are alone on enemy territory without any idea what the hell is going on. Apart from vampires, apparently. The clever approach is simply to pretend that he's entirely fine with it. He can kill Benny later, if necessary. Or, he can try. Dean has a rising suspicion that he is in way over his head. "Well, down the hatch."

The cure is almost worse than the ailment. No, Dean decides. It _is_ worse. When he's done coughing and trying not to throw the disgusting brew back up, Benny has left.

*

There's a long table on the main deck. Clearly the passage has left everybody but the vampires hungry as hell, because the table is almost groaning under the burden of food, every kind imaginable, from roasts to some exotic fruits that Dean has never seen before. The wind is nothing but a calm breeze and the waves are rocking the huge galleon gently. It's a beautiful and sunny morning, and the Mist is behind them. There is no sight of land.

"Vampires, Dad!" Ben cries as he sees Dean. Ben is clearly both well and alive. Not that the dead seem very dead here if Benny is any indication. "And there are pirates too, in the Mist, and they're vampires also!" Ben is up from the table, almost bouncing from excitement. "Benny showed me his fangs!"

Dean's grins as he makes the amusing link between _vampires_ and _pirates_ , and he's about to open his mouth when Benny stops him with a hand held up, as if it makes him able to render Dean mute.

" _Don't_ even," Benny says. "Or I _will_ keelhaul you, brother to the Light King or not. "Those pirates are leeches, and no honest vampire would ever count those scoundrels as one of us. We are the Undead Guard, servants to the God of Death and Darkness and to the Goddess of Dreams and Sleep. Do not mock us or align us with such criminal scum."

"You have to admit that the joke's tempting," Dean insists as he sits down on the bench between Ben and Benny. "Duly noted. No jokes about vampira—

Benny shakes his head. "Eat." There's a glint in his eyes that makes Dean think that Benny the Vampire is not half as tough and angry as he makes it sound.

"Who's the Goddess of Whats-the-what? The Dark God's wife?" Dean asks. He has only heard of the God of Death, not about any goddess.

Benny laughs. "I don't think so. The Goddess isn't exactly The God of Darkness's type. Besides, Death has never taken a consort." He points at Tessa. "That's her."

" _Tessa_ is the—

"That she is. Goddess of Dreams and Sleep."

"The Goddess of Dreams and Sleep. Okay." Dean looks at Tessa with renewed curiosity and a pinch of awe. "And why are you not back in the Dark Land, ruling some part of it, Goddess Tessa?"

Tessa puts down her fork. "Death, the ruler of the Dark, sent me to accompany to your new home as a gesture of good will. It was not a chore. I wanted to ease your passage between the realms."

"That's why I felt so rested? You did something to my sleep?"

"The Undead Guard can do it too, but out of respect for you and your brother, the Light King, both Death and I found it fitting that I went. However, I _am_ a goddess, not a vampire, so we still need Benny and the Undead Guard to help you pass. If I killed you, it'd been for good. Counterproductive to what we try to accomplish, wouldn't you say?"

Dean studies Tessa for a while. If it is so important to the God of Death and Darkness that he arrives safely, even with a high-ranking escort, maybe he Ben and he aren't going to be kept imprisoned as convenient hostages after all? Dean is quiet for moment, long enough to get some coffee and a huge slice of the bloody roast. Gods, he's hungry. "You're sure he didn't force you to go? The God of Death and Darkness, I mean?"

"Of course not. He is the ruler of the Dark Land, but he is not a despot. He cannot decide for me. I wanted to see the Light Land. And you may refer to him as _Death_ ; that is what he goes by when we are not in a very formal setting." Tessa takes a bite of a red apple that smells fresh and spicy. She chews for a while before she asks him, "You treat your women like that? As servants who must obey men? I wondered about that. Since your Ben is not... recognized as your heir."

Dean's thoughts go to Lisa. He laughs, mouth filled with food, and coughs. He grabs a napkin, managing to swallow without making himself look entirely like an uncultured swine with horrible table manners. "Sorry. No, we don't treat women like property. Nobody tells Light women what to do. Which is why I'm not married to Ben's mother. It was a brief affair. She refused me, but I guess it turned out for the best, at least at the time. Would have created all sorts of trouble and I might have been forced to abdicate. Seems I should have insisted anyway, now that I am no longer the king."

Tessa's wrinkles her brow. "Why isn't Benjamin a prince?" she asks. "That is why there would be trouble? I think Death might insist that Benjamin is addressed by that title at our court. He is the son of a king—

"Former king."

"Former king. Prince. However, Ben carries the blood of generations of Winchesters; marriage does not make him more or less the son of a king. To us, he is a prince and he should be second in line to the Light throne. He is your son, Your Royal Highness."

"Oh, no. Don't start on that formal crap now." Dean hates the formality of the court, always did. He likes the informal tone between them, Tessa and Ben and himself. "Better ask Ben. He's the one who has to live with all the princely crap."

"When we arrive at the Dark Land, you aren't going to be a prince any longer, Dad?" Ben leans again Dean, stealing a piece of roast from his plate. Dean swats his hand away.

"Mine! Get your own, you thieving little seagull!" Dean threatens Ben with a fork, waiting until Ben has filled his own plate with an assortment of dishes from the table before he continues. Ben shows true breeding by blowing a raspberry at Dean. "I'm still a prince of the Light. But I won't have any real power if that's what you mean. I guess we're on our own, kiddo."

"I'll be a prince too. It matters, right? That I am Benjamin, Prince of the Light Land? It'd be more difficult for us if I'm just Ben Braeden?" 

Ben is old enough to know the implications. It had been an ongoing discussion between Dean and Lisa for a very long time, from when she denied that Ben was his, continuing when Dean wanted Ben to come to court. Taking him as his page boy was a compromise. That the Dark court might see their relation and their rank as one and the same pleases Dean to no end. It pleases him, too, that he can finally treat Ben as his son in public without causing trouble. Ben is thirteen, he's coming of age in a year, and Lisa could have demanded that he didn't go, and yet she didn't. Lisa is _awesome_.

"Very well, Prince _Benjamin_." Dean makes a small bow without getting up. "And don't let it get to you, or I'll make you polish my boots with your nose."

"Yes, Dad," Ben agrees, in a bored, arrogant tone of voice that makes Dean laugh.

"I think you spent too much time with the Morning Star. If you want the responsibility and rank, you better act like a prince, you hear?" Dean ruffles Ben's hair, pleased with his son, the _prince_. Grinning, Dean fetches some more food and gets to work. Damn, he's hungry.

*

"The Dark God's ship!" one of the sailors shouts. "Death is coming!"

Every sailor, goddess and undead person who aren't occupied with something else, hurry to the stern, Dean and Ben with them. Far to the north they can see a ship coming towards them. Tessa hands Dean a telescope. Close up the boat is impressive. It's a small caravel, white and silver with a white sail. The ship has two huge white wings that are raised to create an awning over the aftcastle. The ship's stern is raised, the white wood carved into a swan, crowned with a silver crown. The proud eyes watch the waves as the boat dances on the blue sea, from one top of a wave to the next. It is almost as if the ship is alive. 

"It's beautiful," Dean says. "Is the Dark God on it?" The sun is making the ocean glimmer with silver light and Dean raises one hand, shading his eyes to be able to see, forgetting for a second that he still has the telescope in the other.

"Yes. It floats his banner. He is showing you great honor, Dean." Next to him, Tessa is waving a greeting at her approaching king.

"So you're sure he's not coming to kill me?" Dean is sure now that the Dark God wants an ambassador. Almost sure. 99%. Maybe.

"A great deal of trouble to go through if we could have cut it short by throwing you into the sea a few miles out, won't you say?" Tessa shakes her head at Dean, clearly indicating that she suspects that he isn't too clever.

"There's that." Tessa is right, of course. "Which one is Death?" Dean asks and raises the telescope again, trying to get a glimpse of the god in whose hands his destiny rests. A man signals with a pair of brightly patterned flags. Dean has no idea what the message might be.

"We don't have time for that. If there is anything you need to bring, get one of the servants to fetch it for you. Our luggage will be brought to the castle later tonight." Tessa waves at Benny. "Get the longboat. All of the Undead Guard on deck. Twelve of our best oarsmen. Right away."

"Yes, Mistress." With inhuman speed, Benny has Tessa's orders executed in a minute. Dean has to collect himself for a few seconds before he drags Ben with him to fetch what they need from the cabin as quick as _humanly_ possible. 

They return a few minutes later, Dean carrying the necessary luggage in a burlap sack that is nowhere near befitting a prince, not that Dean cares. The Undead Guard and Tessa have already boarded the longboat. Only Benny is left, waiting for them. "I go down first. Prince Benjamin, if you'd come second, please. I'll hold the ladder steady for you."

The galleon is moving restlessly on the waves as Dean helps Ben get over the railing and onto the first wooden step of the pilot ladder. The longboat is bouncing eagerly on the water. It is a slender boat that speaks of speed with its narrow form and six sets of oars to drive it forward, but it is not a ship that reeks of safety and comfort. Closer to the water, Dean has to get a grip on himself; the ocean is deep and vast and hungry and it has white, sharp teeth that snap at him. But he forces down his unease, unfamiliar as he is with the rolling of the water. The air feels slightly greasy from salt, and the smell of seaweed is stronger so close to the surface. Dean's not sure he likes it. The sailors use hooked pikes keep the longboat from slamming into the galleon, making an uncomfortable distance between the ship and the swinging ladder and the longboat.

Ben jumps without hesitating, Benny's giant fist Ben's lifeline that keeps him safe from the hungry sea. Dean stops on the next to last step on the ladder, iron grip around the ropes of it. 

"Prince Dean." Benny holds out his hand. "Take my hand. You jump on three. I'll make sure to pull you over." 

Dean nods and just like that he's over the endless abyss and sitting at the thwart at the bottom of the light boat. He makes a relieved sigh. He's meant to ride, not to swim or sail. 

The sailors push them away from the galleon, the longboat adrift, bobbing wildly, out of control. Dean's sure the oarsmen know what they're doing. He hopes they are. The ocean is overwhelming. Dean, used to riding into battle with a smile on his face, is breathless, tense. The ocean is an enemy one cannot defeat.

"It's supposed to do that?" Dean groans as the longboat rides a particularly big wave and slides down into the valley between that one and the next. Ben makes a sound and Dean pulls him close. "They're used to it," he says, putting an arm around Ben. "The Dark God's men are the best at what they do. There's nothing to worry about." If only he believed it himself, Dean would feel less like a liar. 

Benny starts to count as oars hit the water. _Pull-and-pull-and pull._ The ship prances on a wave, throws itself into the valley between that one and the next, and the oars take. The unruly boat becomes determined, picking up speed, staying on top of the waves. The wind blows, the ocean sprinkles them with a shower of cold salt water. Above them seagulls cry and dive towards the boat. Not even Impala is able to run so fast. Dean raises his head. He sits straight up, following the movements as he'd follow Impala's movements. He feels the boat shift under him, fast and temperamental. It balances on top of a huge wave for seconds before it races into the deep, dark green water towering on each side of them, narrowly escaping the wet jaws as one wave breaks inches behind them. Dean can hardly breathe. He is deadly afraid, and yet he knows he wants to get into a longboat again, learn how to row, to be a part of the battle between sea and man, between the powers of the earth and twelve hardened men and a small boat, dancing the dance of life and death to the brutal music of the roaring sea.

The distance between the longboat and Death's ship gets smaller fast. The swan caravel is fast and the longboat is by no means slow. Soon the white swan is close enough for them to hear orders barked at busy sailors on the deck above them.

Up is way easier than down. With a firm grip on the ladder, Dean is boarding the ship right behind Tessa, Benny behind him, making sure that Ben is safe. Dean begins to like Benny, despite having been his combined lunch box and chew toy. The guy's gotta eat, right?

Black-clad servants receive them, bowing deeply. A higher ranking woman steps forward, at least she might be of higher rank, judging from the way everybody bows and curtsies as she walks past them. She has two young boys in tow. They're carrying a bowl and towels. The official curtsies when she approaches Dean. "Your Royal Highness..." she stares at Ben for a second before a nod from Tessa makes her go on. "Your Royal Highnesses, in the name of the God of Death and Darkness I welcome you. We're but ten sea miles out from the Dark coast, but Death wished to greet you here, on neutral territory. I am Meg Masters, the Dark God's Keeper of Keys; the administrator of his household. Death awaits you." The Keeper of Keys waves the page boys forward. "I apologize if I overstepped my bounds, but if you want to freshen up—

Dean slips on his royal mask and persona. He had been blessedly free of it on the Black Ship, but here it is necessary. It helps him keep calm. "That is very considerate of you, m'lady. My son, Prince Benjamin, and I certainly would like that." Dean nods graciously at one of the water-bearing boys. The small boy holds the bowl as Dean washes his hands and face in the clean, hot water, feeling a little better. As he still doesn't know what to expect from the God of Death and Darkness, he prefers to meet his destiny refreshed and without his face stained with salt residue. When he's done, other boys are bringing them trays with goblets and jugs of iced water and ciders. Dean accepts a goblet of apple cider. He drinks it with vastly more pleasure than the disgusting brew that Benny served him earlier. 

"Your Royal Highness?" Tessa steps forward, signaling that they have to walk towards the awning under which Death probably waits to receive them. 

Dean bows to Tessa, formal this time, knowing that what they are about to perform is not just a meeting between two rulers of each their realm, but also a show for the people, something scholars will write about in the history books in years to come. Well, technically, Dean isn't king and he doesn't rule anything any longer. But he was, and he did, and his brother sits on the Light Land's throne with the God of Light at his side. Besides, Dean is still heir to the throne until Sam begets one, not that Lucifer is going to be of much help there. The meeting with Death, no matter Dean's status, is the first contact between the realms for a very long time, and it will not go unnoticed. Dean can do formal for that. "Goddess, if you'd do me the honor?" Dean offers Tessa his arm. 

Her face is a study in amused surprise. "Prince Dean."

With Ben on one side, Tessa at his arm, Dean follows Meg of the Keys. Maybe she's the Mistress of Ceremonies as well, nobody is surprised that Mistress Meg leads them across the whitewashed deck, towards the pavilion underneath the huge white swan wings. 

At first Dean is blinded, walking from the sun into the shade. When he can see again, there is a throne in front of him, an elegant white and silver chair with white wings behind it, stretching towards the larger wings that make up the ceiling. The man who sits in the chair is a stark contrast to the white ship. Almost like a shadow himself, all clad in black, and with long dark hair, the Dark God is both ugly and strangely beautiful, as if light and dark have decided to blend and make this odd creature. Slanted brown eyes watch Dean as he approaches. The Dark God doesn't move, his hand steady as it rests on the top of a silver-headed cane, a huge ring on one finger. Two lean hounds lie on the deck in front of the throne. Dean finds that Death is a bit like them, the hunt and the sweet, swift deer on their mind. They are blood and death and beauty, and Dean stops, watching the tableau in front of him, in awe of the Dark God. Death is far from young, but he is not old and lifeless or ancient. Far from.

Death doesn't speak. He looks Dean over, as if he's never seen a human before. But he's not curious. He's assessing Dean like he's deciding whether he is worth his while.

Dean forgets that he is former king, ambassador to the Light King and just about everything else. _Nobody_ looks at him like that. "Let me know when you've had your fill," he purrs. "You want me to turn around so you can look at my ass, too?" The entire assembly makes a collective gasp. Clearly no one talks back to the Dark God.

Except Dean.

Death stares him in the eye, his expression blank, cold. "I can see the body part in question from here, thank you. Regretfully it is placed on your shoulders, doing all the talking. Sit down, _Prince_ Dean, and at least pretend that you are a noble king and an example for your son, Prince Benjamin." Death waves at a servant. "Bring a chair for our... esteemed guest," Death says, expressionless. "I assume he has the knowledge of how to use one. Although—

"No, in the Light Land, we dine on the dirt floor." Dean sits down on the chair, mostly to underline that Dean Winchester doesn't stand when his equal in rank sits. "With the pigs. So, are we done making assumptions about my breeding and my land?"

"We are done when I am done wondering why I cared to show you the honor of greeting you myself." Death's eyes are sparkling with annoyance. "Ambassador Ajay mentioned that there were other nobles, lower in rank, but with better social skills that would be more suited to act as ambassador to the Dark court." Death leans back in the chair. "I will make a habit of listening to Ajay in the future."

"How kind of you to say so," Dean growls. Sure, there were better suited nobles. Only it was a splendid idea that Dean decided to go, because those nobles would just have fucked things up for Sam and done something stupid or socially unacceptable. Like being rude to the Dark God within a minute after they'd met him. Good thing they didn't send any of those. "I assume you had nothing better to do than to come see me. My charm is legendary, and I'm a delight to be around," Dean adds, just because there is no way he can make it worse than he already did.

"You have a very interesting perception of your own worth, Dean. Your king does not generally have high standards, I gather."

"Do not even _think_ about insulting Sam," Dean whips out. "You haven't seen the Light Land, and you have no idea what we are and how our standards are. You closed your frigging borders a thousand years ago, and all you left outside them was that stuck-up arrogant asshole that my brother married in a moment of insanity. Way to go, Death. Well done."

Death's mouth makes a small curl. Maybe he smiles, Dean's not sure. Maybe he's sneering. Yeah, he's probably sneering. 

"Yes, Lucifer. There is that. I might apologize for that at some point, no one deserves him, no matter how horrible their manners are. Your brother must be a very patient man."

"He is. See," Dean says, "we do agree on something. We'll be best buddies in no time."

Death sighs and looks to the ceiling. "I wouldn't count on that. You are a rude, unpolished thing, and I honestly don't know what to do with you, Prince, now that I am forced to accommodate you. Tessa suggested that I threw you overboard if you got too cocky. I feel tempted, Dean, very tempted."

Dean laughs. Yeah, Tessa'd do that. "You'd miss me," he says. "Plus, you'd piss Sam off, and you'd have Sam _and_ Lucifer in your backyard with an army if you did." Except they wouldn't, because no one would be able to go through the Mist. Nah, Sam would find a way.

Death looks at Tessa, still without showing neither anger, nor pleasure. He looks like he could use some rest, Dean thinks. 

"Please leave us, all of you," Death demands. "Let Benny show Prince Benjamin the ship; he might like to see it. Meg, bring us refreshments. I need to inform His Royal Highness about the conditions of our... backyard."

Dean makes a quiet sigh. He clearly has to do some groveling now, _or else_. Death's dismissal of his staff and advisers is a surefire sign that they are going to have a heart to heart. Sam's not going to be happy because Dean is sure that Sam will hear about it. Thank the gods that Dean is but a refined messenger boy or they'd have been at war with the Dark by now. Resisting the urge to demand that Ben stays with them, Dean watches as the members of the Dark court disappear and leave Dean to the awkward, slightly hostile silence between the Dark God and himself -- the smart-mouthed ambassador of the Light Land.

One of the gazehounds gets up and stretches, yawning before it trots up to Death, poking at his hand with a wet snout. He caresses the hound, rubbing its ear until the dog raises a hind leg to make scratching movements in the air. The likeness between dog and god is remarkable, apart from the hound's silly begging for a decent ear-scratching. Death, in contrast, appears to be the epitome of dignity and grace. Then again, so are the hounds and now look at the creature.

It is like Death realizes that he's being watched. There is a predatory glint in his eyes as he looks up, but it disappears so fast that Dean almost believes that he made it up. 

"I assume you want to stay in the Dark Land, Dean?" Death pats the dog on the head and leans his cane against the throne. "Since you agreed to the exchange. Since you wanted to go instead of your brother."

"I didn't think I had a choice." Dean's still unsure about the perceived hostage situation. "Ambassador Ajay—"

"—is a careful man and I am not a kidnapper. You are free to leave, Prince Dean, if you prefer." 

"Do we need the formality? I have insulted you already, and frankly I don't care shit about the title."

"And yet you demand respect but give none. I am not impressed."

"Yeah, there is that. But look at the bright side," Dean says, unable to stop himself. "You've probably had more fun the last ten minutes than you've had, let's say, the last ten years, right?"

"It has been a thousand years since someone dared speak to me in that tone." 

"And now he's ruling the Light with my brother. It really doesn't work very well as a threat if all you get for being cocky is a hot dude and a throne."

"I thought you abdicated because you abhorred being king?"

"I thought you asked me to come here because you wanted to reconnect with the Light. That means Lucifer. As I said, talking back to you clearly gets me a throne, a husband and forgiveness. Nah, I don't think I'll stop anytime soon." 

"The only way to stop that mouth of yours is to offer you food, Tessa told me." Death looks very, very tired. "Meg, refreshments! Before I ask Benny and the Black Ship to turn around and return His Highness Prince Dean to his brother with our condolences."

Dean grins. He's won. Sort of. At least he's still alive and the Light and the Dark are not at war. "Like I said. We're going to be best friends in no time."

Before Death comes up with a scathing reply, they are interrupted. Mistress Meg's servants place small tray tables in front of them. Dean forgets about their argument because the strange food on the plate looks like nothing Dean has had before, but it smells _heavenly_! Dean looks at the flat, round bread-thing in front of him, then at Death. Death has a questioning eyebrow raised, and Dean reciprocates with a similar expression. Death picks up knife and fork, cutting off a bite. Dean takes it as the hint it is. He cuts through the crust and cuts off a cheese-soaked, tomato-and-basil-smelling piece of bread, and takes the bite, careful not to stuff it in like he'd have done if he wasn't sitting next to the most powerful god in the universe.

The taste is divine. "Oh my god," Dean moans, despite his vow to show that he actually has manners. "What is it?"

"The solution to our problem with your big mouth, it seems. Pizza."

"I am _never_ going back to the Light land now," Dean groans and takes another bite.


	3. Time to Grow Up

"I don't care what the Dark Land's like," Dean declares. "If there's pizza, just feed me and leave me in the dungeon." Dean is looking towards the thin line of land that is visible in the horizon, even with the naked eye. The wind is gentler now, warmer, as if the winds and the Mist are retreating. The waves are not as scary, they are more like little white tufts of foam, bobbing merrily on the sea. "Do you plan to throw me in the dungeon?" Dean sort-of jokes. He's still not sure what the Dark God wants with him; their brief dinner together did not give any indication of Death's intentions. Well, the twenty awkward minutes with Death sure proved that the Dark God probably was the inventor of sarcasm; but that's fine, Dean's fine with that. He's not as fine with being a prisoner, though, even if they feed him this new, delicious food. 

"There is nothing dark about the Dark Land," Benny says, trying to hide a smile. "And our dungeons are long gone in favor of more appropriate lodgings for prisoners. You'll like it."

"Way to oversell it. What's left, apart from the pizza, if it's not the dull, gloomy place I expected?"

"You've had too much to drink, Dad," Ben quips. "Maybe we should go change to something more court appropriate? If we are to meet the dignitaries—"

"Look at my son, the prince," Dean exclaims proudly, interrupting Ben. "He'll be a better prince than I." Ben is right. Maybe it's the transition from human to vampire to human that did it, but the glass of wine that Dean had with Death actually made him a little dizzy.

Benny laughs again, a deep, soft laughter. "His etiquette sure is better. But you're a clever man, Prince, you'll learn. Since we are speaking of etiquette and clothes, Mistress Meg might have put out some clothes for you to wear when we arrive."

"What's wrong with my clothes?" Dean looks Benny up and down. His clothes, if poorer in fabric, are much like Dean's own. "They were made by the royal tailor. And they are... clean." Dean doesn't understand what the fuss is about; he could wear these clothes at court and only the most anal would be offended. Sam, probably. And Lucifer.

Benny smiles, his sharp teeth flashing, obviously amused now. "No offense, Your Royal Highness, but _these_ —" Benny points at his own garb. "—are our traveling clothes. The kind of clothes we wear in the city are different. Your surcoat is beautiful, nothing wrong with it; I merely mentioned it since you might want to meet the people dressed in something that is less foreign to them. They'll like that, that a highborn prince shows them respect. They'll love you for it."

"They are going to love me anyway; I am charming, bright, and I am good company."

Ben makes a rude noise that is not becoming for a prince. Or a page. Or anyone at all. 

"And my son, too," Dean says, sending Benny a sassy smile. "He learned from the best. He's polite as well. Just the sound of that derisive grunt... yeah. He's gonna be perfect."

Benny groans and lets out a poorly hidden sigh. "Prince Dean, please..."

Dean thinks about it for a second. He likes his clothes; they are tight-fitting and made from the softest wool and flax. Unless the Dark God can come up with something much better, Dean sees no reason to change. His clothes are classy. However, his slightly wine-muddled brain is fuzzy enough to repeat to him what the Dark God so rudely told him: that he is a crude asshole with less breeding than an orphaned bastard goat. Not in those terms, no, the Dark God is far too... godly to say so, but Dean got the gist of it. If changing his clothes makes the Dark God and his people happy, Dean can do it. For Sam. And for Ben too. It's important that Ben is well-received at court. Personally, he couldn't care less how the reception's going to be, as long as he doesn't shame Sam in the eyes of the Dark people. Although... if he can get more pizza, he'll dress in burlap and top it off with a flower wreath on his head for good measure, if that's what Benny wants from him. 

"All right," he says. "When in Rome..."

Benny looks questioningly at Dean. "Rome?"

"It's a Light city. When in Rome, do as the Romans. Means that when you go to a foreign place, you do as they do there no matter if you like it or not. I'll change if you think it's best."

"Thank you," Benny says, and Dean's sure that thanks usually are not given in that tone of voice.

*

The clothes are like nothing Dean has ever seen. The fabric is incredibly fine and the stitching is regular and straight. The tailor's name is embroidered in gold in the back of the surcoat. The shirt has buttons, and it is as light as the summer wind. Dean presses his lips together as not to praise the clothes in a way that reveals that he really is nothing but a bastard goat with no breeding, manners _or_ proper clothes. Ben looks up at him, a pair of strange breeches in one hand, a smaller, lighter version of the surcoat in the other. Dean shakes his head almost imperceptible. He doesn't know how to put them on, either. Contrary to Dean's usual breeches, these are stitched together; they are not two separate pieces.

"Let Benny help you, Ben," Dean says. "I'm used to having a manservant, but I can do without," Dean says at no one in particular, trying to cover up their dressing room ignorance. There are implements in these clothes that are entirely unknown to Dean. Dean turns the shirt in his hands, trying to imagine how he's supposed to wear it. _Buttons front or back. No, the tailor's mark goes in the back._ Dean pulls on the shirt and buttons it, watching Benny as he steps up to Ben, helping him get into the breeches. Those are definitely not made to ride or fight in. They are for courtiers, that much Dean can see. He strips and throws his old set of breeches on the narrow cot, keeping an eye on Ben and Benny so that he gets it right. Buttons he knows, but the strange metal strip in the breeches is different from anything Dean has ever encountered. He pulls it and the breeches slide shut. _Clever_. Much easier than the tangle of leather straps that hold together his old attire. Apart from the decorative strip of silk that goes around the neck, Dean manages to dress all by himself. There are shoes, too, polished leather with a flat heel. They are more or less like the boots Dean used to wear, only without the bootleg. Ben is dressed, shoes, silk tie and all, when Dean ties the second shoelace. 

Dean smiles. His son looks so grown-up, older than his thirteen years. 

"Let me help you with that." Benny points at the colored strip. "It can be tricky, even for us. It takes time to learn."

"Sure," Dean agrees, smirking up at Benny. "Better teach me, then. We can chat while you tie it; for some reason we didn't have much time to speak during the passage through the Mist. I wonder why? Oh, yes. You killed me and made me a vampire."

Good-natured, Benny grunts another laugh. "Still angry at me for that, Brother? It had to be done."

"Yeah, yeah. I'd hoped to get to know everybody a little better before we arrived, though. Maybe to get an idea of where the hell I'm going, what kind of guy Death is. Ambassador Ajay clammed his mouth shut like an oyster at the mere mention of Death, and Lucifer... well, according to himself he hasn't been to the Dark Land for so long that his intel doesn't matter. Not a chatterbox, Lucifer, although he spoke sweetly enough when he seduced my brother."

"He's right, you know. I don't think he'd recognize his old realm," Benny says conversationally. "We have probably developed some since he fled."

"But the God of Darkness? He's still the same?"

"Yes and no. He's not one of the bad guys; he's fair and not cruel. I think Lucifer's departure, and the First God's... it made us think. Prince Michael tried for a while to take over, but Death would have none of it, and thank the Light and the Dark for that. 

"Because Michael is..."

Benny grabs the long piece of elaborately patterned silk that obviously is a mandatory part of men's clothes in the Dark Land. He smooths the length of fabric and folds it before he hangs it over one arm. He pulls up Dean's collar before he gets to work. Dean tries to follow how Benny creates the complicated knot, but he has to give up. Why anyone would wear something so useless is beyond Dean. Then again, the rest of the clothes, as exquisite as they are, are dull and dark, nothing like the colorful dresses and the beautiful surcoats and tunics that Dean is used to wearing at court. Maybe the narrow scarf's only purpose is to prevent people of dying from boredom by dressing.

Benny is done and assess his handiwork critically before he replies. "Michael is Lucifer's brother."

"Ah."

"No, that's not why we didn't want him as our god and king. He's not like Lucifer. Michael does not have it in him to unite the people. As much as Death is... well, you met him... Michael is different. Rigid, power hungry, powerful. Ruthless. If Lucifer hadn't rebelled, he'd probably have been our king now."

"Lucifer?" It makes Dean boggle. "The Light God's avatar? How could he possibly lead the Dark?" Dean knows he should have listened more closely to the lessons in the Dark Land's history and lore. But he'd been young and mostly interested in horses and women and the history lessons lacked somewhat in that they were more like fairy tales, without the fairies. "I don't understand."

"Lucifer was the heir. The oldest of the First God's sons. There is no light without darkness—"

"—No life without death," Dean continues. "So Lucifer rebelled and lost his birthright? And Death is the Dark God's avatar, right?" 

Benny hesitates a moment as if he's thinking about something deep. "No. Death _is_ the Dark God, there has never been, nor will there ever be an avatar. Death is eternal. The Dark is eternal. The Light is not. But I wonder whether it was meant to be. Maybe Lucifer was destined to meet your brother and thus unite the realms again, by love and by friendship, by the Light and the Dark." 

"Or maybe he was an opportunistic asshole who saw fit to seduce my brother so that he could sit on the Light's throne and rule with him when he couldn't rule the Dark," Dean growls. There is no love lost between him and Lucifer and here he doesn't have to hide it. He sighs in relief, finally letting it out.

"If that was what the Light God wanted, he'd have said so. There's a lot to be said about Lu— Prince Consort Lucifer, and most of it is not good. But he never lies, and he never hides his agenda."

"So when he tells my bother he loves him, he isn't actually lying?" Dean feels betrayed. It was much easier to hate Lucifer when he didn't have any redeeming qualities whatsoever, although hard pressed, Dean has to admit that Lucifer's love for Sam seemed honest enough.

"Unless Prince Consort Lucifer has changed in the last millennium, no. The Light God's avatar never lies. He is of the light, and as such he is created from light. There is no betrayal in him even though there is ambition and hunger to lead."

"What you are saying is that he'll show me the courtesy to stab me in the heart and not the back if he decides to kill me, is that it?"

"More or less. He stabbed his own brother when he tried to take the throne. In the chest."

"Lucifer stabbed Prince Michael when he fled?"

"The other brother. Prince Gabriel."

"Awesome. Is the entire family like that? Because then I think my son and I want to return to the Light Land in about as long as it take to turn the ship around."

Dean is cut short by a determined knock on the door. It's opened before he answers. Tessa walks in. 

"Benny, are you telling Dean about the tall tales of Prince Gabriel? I thought I heard his name."

"Not yet, Mistress. I was just about to begin."

"Do you really think he needs to be informed—"

"Prince Dean should be prepared."

Tessa laughs and it makes Dean wonder what the hell is going on. Lucifer never talked about Gabriel, which, seeing that he might have tried to kill his own brother, isn't too surprising. He can't decide whether he needs to be worried or not. Under all circumstances, he needs to get a message to Sam, because there is no way Dean is letting Sam have co-habitation with a potential murderer, love or no love. The case must be investigated, and Dean needs a trustworthy co-conspirator. Sam has to know what kind of man, god, whatever, that he married. 

"Gabriel might be off-putting, but he's not so bad as to warn our guests against him." Tessa shakes her head. She turns to Dean. "Prince Gabriel is the self-professed court jester. If you ever find a horse, four puppies and a troupe of jugglers in your bed at nighttime, the one you'd blame for it would be Prince Gabriel. But then again, he'd probably be there to enjoy the mayhem he caused, so you'd know where to find him."

"Remember the time when he filled the throne room with chickens?" Benny suddenly looks very tired. "The staff are complaining that they are still cleaning up stray feathers."

"We had chicken for dinner for a very long time after that," Tessa elaborates. "I think the only thing we had that wasn't made out of some part of those chickens was ice cream."

"Wouldn't be too sure," Benny contradicts. "Then again, everything that isn't blood tastes like chicken to me."

Tessa puts her hand on Dean's arm. "Don't worry about Prince Gabriel; nobody's going to care if you throw him in the moat for whatever it is he's planning right now, and rest assured, he will be planning something in honor of your visit. Benny is right, though, there are a few things that you need to know before we arrive. To prepare you for... our different culture. Death would like to see you in his cabin. He does not wish for this part of your conversation to be something that will be scrutinized by historians for millennia to come."

"That's very considerate of the Dark God." Dean doesn't ask why it has to be done in private. Thousand years have passed since anyone even spoke to a citizen of the Dark; of course there are differences in culture that Dean needs to know about, differences in how the two realms developed. Still, he isn't sure whether Death once more, in slightly less offensive terms, is calling Dean an uncultured swine who needs education in private as not to embarrass himself in public. Well, that has yet to be seen. Maybe he simply is uncultured and underdeveloped and backwards.

*

Death is a thin black silhouette against the bright sun that streams through the huge window. Dean gathers this has to be Death's personal cabin; contrary to the black ship's main cabin, the swan ship's interior is white, white-washed floors, white walls, strange furniture that is white as well. It is like Death likes the bright light, or maybe he needs it; it has to be a heavy burden to be the ruler of the Dark Land, heavier even, than being king of the Light. Tessa closes the door behind Dean, leaving him alone with Death.

Death turns slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Sit, Dean. Please. We need to talk."

So no more titles, no more formality? Maybe this is the real man, the real god that Dean is allowed to see? A man weighed down by responsibility, a man not bothering with decoration and polite phrases. Or maybe it is the disrespect from a god holding all the power over his human captive? Dean still isn't sure that he's anything but a glorified hostage. After what he's heard about Lucifer, the Dark God might want something that gives him the upper hand when it comes to dealing with the Light's king and god. The King of the Light's brother is a convenient asset in that regard. It could be worse, unfortunately: what if Death has taken offense and decided to throw Dean in the dungeon just for the sake of it? 

"Benny tells me that you don't have any dungeons in the Dark Land," Dean says as he pulls out a chair. Just as well jump into it.

Death nods and sits down too. "We don't. It has been many years since we build a proper prison for our criminals. We are not savages."

"So you haven't made a habit of throwing nobles from the Light Land into some damp hole in the ground?"

"I'm sure we can make an exception for you, Dean." Death's expression is... expressionless. 

"I'm good." Dean sends Death a grin before he can't stop himself and behave like a proper ambassador. "I thought perhaps you'd like to."

"Do no tempt me. Your behavior at the reception was appalling. I asked the Goddess of Dreams and Sleep _twice_ whether she was certain that you were Dean Winchester, the former King of Light, or if she thought that King Sam had sent us some... peasant."

"Do not speak badly of our people. Most peasants have better manners than me, and they work harder," Dean says, and it's not entirely wrong. The common people in the Light Land are usually well-behaved and polite. Dean never cared to refine any manners, and nobody had the power to teach him otherwise. "Sam tried to teach me courtly manners at some point, but he reverted to some bitch-faced moaning after a few attempts."

Death makes a face that is an exact copy of Sam's most prissy and annoyed bitch-face variety.

"Yeah, like that." Dean smiles beatifically and leans back in the strange chair. The fine leather creaks under his body, but the spidery chair seems sturdy enough.

"I cannot possibly say how much I value your assessment of my exterior," Death says coldly. "Your brother was secretly very happy that you offered to leave, I'm sure. You are very... convinced of your own charm, Dean, and it is unbecoming. For any man, and most certainly for a king."

"Not a king. Never really was."

"And you are going to continue to avoid taking any form of responsibility?"

"I volunteered to go instead of my brother, didn't I? I think that's responsible." 

Death's eyes narrow and he stares at Dean for a few seconds, before he speaks. "Ambassador Ajay told me that you never took anything seriously, except anything having to do with your brother and your son. You think that your charm can get you out of anything, but let me tell you, Dean, that the Light Land is nothing like the Dark. We have bestowed on you the honor to be the first citizen of the Light to be allowed entrance to the Dark for a very long time. I suggest you consider your station very thoroughly. Not everyone believes that inviting a human into our realm was a good idea. I tend to agree. Now that I have met you, I tend to agree."

Dean is about to snap at Death something rude, but he is cut off with a movement of a hand, Death making it quite clear that he does not like to be interrupted. Dean bites his tongue, forcing himself to sit quietly, determined to wait until Death is done. He is not irresponsible and he sure doesn't think that anything in relation to Sam or to Sam's rule is a game. 

"You are a child, and if you wish to continue your childish antics, I firmly suggest that you return to the Light Land with your son. I will not tolerate any weakening of my rule because of you, Dean Winchester. You did not come here to be entertained; you are here because your brother willed it so, and we let you in out of respect for our fallen son, the Light God and his husband. Your purpose here is to be the envoy between our realms, to ensure peace and understanding between our lands." Death snorts derisively. "How do you think you are doing, Dean? How do you think your behavior at the reception is going to benefit my authority — and yours?"

Death's words actually hit where it hurts. Yes, Dean was a king. He was King of the Light, and he would still be, had he not stepped back to let Sam rule the Light because no one, _no one_ would be more suited to lead the Light than Sam. But it stops Dean only for a moment. He really should have practiced shutting up, but the Dark God is his equal and he treats him like a misbehaving child. "Is that what you do to punish me? _No, Dean, you can't have any candy when you don't behave, Daddy is so disappointed._ You can just say so if you don't like me, because I can tell you that right now I'm not too fond of you, either."

"It is not a question of whether I like you or not. It is a question whether I wish to let you enter the Dark realm or not," Death says and stares Dean down again. "If the contact between the Light and the Dark is going to be anything but constructive and beneficial, I see no reason to reveal to you the development our realm has made since a human visited us last."

"What the hell? Could you possibly be more condescending and arrogant?" Dean rages. He leans forward in the chair, hands on the cold metal bars, squeezing them hard. "Why in the name of the Light would we even be interested in what you've done? The Light was doing fine without you, Death. I care fuck all about how long you've been sitting on your throne, playing god. It's not like the Light has been sleeping for a thousand years, you assh—"

"That's enough!" This time Death is truly angry. It isn't that he _does_ anything. But his eyes are glacier-cold and his face is tense with anger. "No one has dared speak to me like you have done, you... impertinent misfit. You have no idea what I have been doing, or about the sacrifices I made to keep my kingdom safe. You wouldn't recognize responsibility if you stepped on it, because you have never carried it, you..." Death turns, his back to Dean. "Tessa!" Death barks out the order with no concern for politeness, which probably should tell Dean that he is on very, very thin ice here.

"I—" he attempts.

"Quiet," Death snaps. "I will hear no more."

Dean gathers that Death has called Tessa to accompany him back through the Mist. Great. He has really messed this up. Sam's gonna kill him in a million interesting ways. 

It takes but an instant before Tessa enters. Her face is worried. She glances at Dean, biting her lip.

Death shakes his head and Tessa looks away. 

"My God." Tessa bows.

Something is going on between them, some form of communication that Dean doesn't understand. 

"Restil ol?" Death says and takes Tessa's hand.

Dean has no idea what Death is saying, but Tessa nods, terse and tense. 

"Ee a de," she says with a sigh.

Death doesn't reply, he merely waves a hand and before Dean can react, there is a sound, bone against bone, and Tessa is slumped on the floor, her head at a strange angle, her neck turned in a way that no human neck can be turned. A slow stream of blood trickles from her mouth. It is slowly becoming a pool. The smell of iron and death is both sudden and overwhelming.

"What?" Dean cannot breathe for a second, then he's at his knees next to Tessa, fingers fumbling over her skin for the pulse that isn't there. Her eyes are empty, staring at nothing. "You... you killed her?" He gasps for air, staring at Death, still with Tessa's limp hand in his, the stench of her death in his nostrils. "Why?"

"To make you understand the burden of responsibility." Death towers over him, a pillar of gloom and threats.

"Yeah, thanks for the lesson. Awesome. And what could I possibly learn from that?" Dean looks down at Tessa again, carefully putting her hand down before he closes her eyes. "You broke her neck! She was my friend, dammit!"

"And I have killed friend and foe alike, not once, but many times. For millennia, Dean, I have put aside my own urges, my dreams and my wishes, to uphold the natural order, to maintain the equilibrium between the Light and the Dark. Since the First God disappeared, I have been the bulwark and the balance, and I have made sacrifices that you do not have the capacity to understand. I am ruler first, everything else is secondary. I serve my people, despite the costs. Do you see now that you and I have to do _whatever_ it takes to serve our realms? Imagine for a moment that it might be of great benefit for the Dark to have liaison with with the Light. Imagine that the Light sends an envoy who do not comprehend this importance. Imagine, then, that a statement must be made, on a level which this envoy is able to see reason and come to his senses before he ruins the fragile new connection between realms that have been separated for too long. Maybe then you will be willing to learn."

Dean frowns. He is still shocked; Tessa's death is meaningless, entirely without reason or cause. Unless Death sees it as so critical that he understands the importance of this particular lesson. Maybe Death's power is not as firmly in his hands as Dean had believed since he seemingly is able to disturb the Dark realm's delicate power balance.

This time it is Dean's turn to use some time to study Death. He's a lean hound, always alert, as if he is searching for prey in the distance. But his kill is at their feet, and Death's face is expressionless. His eyes, however, are dark with sadness. 

The importance of Death's sacrifice seeps into Dean, a sharp pain of loss and pity. If this is how Death lives his life, being king and god is even worse than Dean had thought. And Death is right: both as prince and ruler of the Light, Dean has done nothing but to _play_ king. Somehow it makes Dean see Lucifer in another light: the King of the Light and the Light God's avatar are meant for each other; meant to be together to keep the balance. Lucifer, despite his bad character, surely will lend the arm that will support Sam when he is about to fall. And Sam will stumble, no one can rule without flaw, by the Light and the Dark, he will stumble. And Lucifer will be there to help Sam stand again when _his_ burden becomes too heavy. Death has nobody to stand by his side when he stumbles under the heavy burden of government.

"I shoved all that at Sam, the power and the responsibility for the Light, without even thinking about it for a second," Dean finally says. "I wanted to go hunting and drinking. Have a few women, and then—" He leans forward, forcing himself to see, really see, what his foolish behavior and his ignorance have caused. He is not going to take the blame for Tessa's death, that is all on the Dark God, but had he been less slow to learn, this lesson hadn't been necessary. Tessa's blood is dark red. Her skin is pale, lifeless. Her eyes stares into the abyss of eternity, life gone.

"If there is a life after this, I hope she will forgive me," Dean says quietly. His emotions are at a standstill. Later there will be rage, anger, sadness. Some of it will turn into self-loathing, and a big part will be directed at Death. But Dean has learned his lesson. _Gods_ , has he learned his lesson. He closes his eyes for a moment, collecting himself, trying not to think about Tessa's smile, her kindness. 

He can mourn later.

It's time to grow up.

Dean stands, his jaw clenched so hard he can hardly speak. "I apologize for my ignorance. There won't be a repeat performance." He takes a deep breath, prostrate in front of Death in mind, if not in body. "I shall take any advice you give me, my king."

"I'm inclined to forgive you, Dean." Death nods. "And I am not your king. As you pointed out so colorfully, we are equals, Your Royal Highness, and I shall be pleased to see you behave like it."

Dean is about to say something less than polite, but he manages to stop the comment before it is out of his mouth. It earns him an appreciative nod from the Dark God, not that he cares about appreciation, he cares about keeping the remains of Death's staff alive. They have suddenly become his responsibility. _I am the bulwark and the balance_ , Death has said. Now Dean is the bulwark. If Death kills so casually, Dean is willing to stand between him and his servants and soldiers.

"I will." Dean stands, not knowing what to do. 

"Very well. Death points at Tessa. "Hom! Torzu!" Death says, clearly a command.

It takes but a second. Dean suppresses a gasp as Tessa's dead body moves, bones healing in an instant. Dean gapes in wonder as life pours back into her, her skin flushing and her chest moving with her first breath. This is nothing like the draining at the ship, becoming a vampire, and then taking the cure. This is _real_. Tessa was dead, gone, finished. Dean _checked_. She was dead, and now she's not. It's a miracle. 

Death has not only the means to kill, but also the ability to create life?

Dean takes a step back. Nobody, _nobody_ has that kind of power except for the First God who created the realms out of the fabric of nothing.

"Do you understand now, Dean, that I have the power over life and death? Do you understand the responsibility I have taken upon myself?" Death walks across the room, kneeling down next to Tessa, smoothing her hair back as she takes deep breaths and open her eyes.

"You are... are you the First God?"

Death helps Tessa to sit. "If only. No, I am not."

"I'm sorry," Dean says as he kneels next to them, the strange new clothes making it harder to move properly. Dean looks at Tessa in wonder. "Tessa, I'm really, really sorry. I didn't know he'd... kill you."

"He asked permission. Just... don't do it again," Tessa croaks as she rubs her shoulder. "My neck... it's going to hurt like mad for at least a week."


	4. Time to Wonder

White spires rise so high into the sky that it is beyond Dean how anyone could build something that tall. Golden-tipped and shining, one huge tower after another line the shore, all different in style, but all as tall as birds fly, all of them white. Dean reaches down to scratch one of Death's hounds behind the ear, like the action in itself is able to ground him. He is on thin ice here, unfamiliar with boats and buildings, unfamiliar with the strange powers that Death and the Goddess of Dreams and Sleep possess. The Dark Land is close now, it might be only a matter of minutes before they arrive, and Dean doesn't feel even remotely ready or prepared for the task that lies ahead. Life had been much, much easier when he was nothing but an ignorant hunter, a carefree and admittedly careless king. Now... now there is Ben and Sam who both need him to step up to the plate, not knowing what kind of dish he's served. There is the responsibility to his king, his son and to his own people. There is Dean's new-found respect for Death, and the respect he owes the citizens of the Dark Land.

Dean sighs heavily, and it does nothing to help him carry the heavy burden.

The dog groans and makes a content snuffle, leaning against Dean's leg. It calms him. 

The wind is cooling, the occasional spray of salt water refreshing. Dean is shaken, still. He closes his eyes, needing the feeling of wind and water to wash him clean him of the sight of Tessa's dead body. By the Light, he never wants to witness anything like it again! Tessa's untimely death and her surprising resurrection are affecting him, making him jittery and at odds with himself. Dean is more than willing to admit that he screwed up; he can even understand why Death felt the need to teach him a lesson before they arrive. 

Dean never liked school. But Death's lesson... yeah, it worked. Maybe Dean simply is more a show-and-tell guy than book smart.

And maybe the lesson he needed to be taught is that he has to reinvent himself, change. Problem is that he doesn't have _time_ to actually think about how he can do better, about how he can become a better... not king — that is too late now— a better man, at least, so that he won't embarrass Sam and Ben. It's not like Dean is stupid, he knows that. He also knows that just about everything Death pointed out — his flaws and his immature insistence on refusing responsibility — Dean knows to be true. He'd been a boy king, an naïve child playing ruler, but never really getting into it, never taking it seriously. As long as the people was happy, Dean was fine. When he looks at his brief time as leader of the Light, he could just as well have played dress up, placed a toy crown on his head, pretending to be king.

Thank the Light and the Dark that he abdicated and let Sam take over. 

Dean stands a bit longer, silent, watching the strange pale towers that strive to touch the sky. They are like nothing Dean has ever seen. Maybe they are temples? "So that's your city? Doesn't look very dark to me." 

"White marble and sand stone," Death replies without looking at him. He, too, is looking at the shining city that is his home. "Since the creation of the realm, our urge for the light was strong. We envied the Light, for we had but darkness and since we, the gods, created the universe and the realms in it, we have no one to blame but ourselves. The Light God left us, and we had nothing but darkness. So we learned to carve white marble out of the Dark mountains, and we developed. Our architecture reflects that: we want to be as close to the sun and the light as possible. It has been hundreds of years since we left the dark fortress that was our home before."

"They are houses? For... people?" Dean's eyes widen and he directs his attention to the slender towers again, trying to imagine how it feels to live there, at the top of such a fragile construction. It eludes him, both that and how it is even possible to build anything as marvelous as the Dark city. It is even more surprising that something so exquisite as those towers are merely houses for ordinary citizens. He is not entirely sure whether Death is lying or not.

"Yes. There." Death points at the tallest of the buildings, a thin, needle-like thing with even thinner spires. It is separated from the rest of the line of towers by trees and greenery, at least that's how it looks. "That's the palace. _Oiad Paradial_."

"Oiad Paradial? What does that mean? It's the old language, right?" Dean never cared to learn. Gods, he'd have been a horrible king.

"It means _God's living dwellings_."

"So, it's like a... temple?"

"It is my home, Prince Dean. And it will be yours, too."

Dean wonders if there is no difference between temple and home for Death; he is a god after all. So probably not. Dean squints, trying to get a clearer view than the white blur, white stone golden-tinged by sunlight and sky. He turns his head and lets his gaze slide over Death. Thin and lean and powerful, clad in black, Death really is an odd creature. But he certainly has an eye for beauty; the Dark Land's capital is a beautiful place, at least seen from afar.

"Dad! Dad! Benny says he'll teach me to swim!" Ben almost bounces, very un-princely, across the deck, Benny trailing behind. "May I?" 

"It's a free country. At least I think so."

Death glares at Dean without saying anything, as if Dean has said something extremely offending. He merely stares, that intense stare that his hounds have too, the one that looks like hunts and kills and sharp teeth. Oops. 

"Fuck," Dean groans. "I didn't mean to imply..." 

"Eloquent," Death says, his voice low and cold. "Informed."

"Really, Dad!" Ben pulls at Dean's sleeve. Awesome. His son has better diplomatic skills than he. Or maybe Ben actually read the documents that Ambassador Ajay had provided; if Dean had done the same, he'd have known what kind of political system the Dark Land has, and he could have avoided either implying that the Dark Land is a dictatorship or demonstrating that he is, as Death implied, an uncultured swine. An ignorant, willfully uneducated swine. 

Dean _has_ to remember that he is doing this for Sam, not for fun or for rewards, but for Sam and the Light people. He can't keep offending his host. His responsibility is to take everything Death dishes in stride, at least pretending to be a grown-up as not to ruin Sam's chances for a beneficial alliance with the Dark Land. There is nothing Dean wouldn't do for Sam to ensure Sam's safety and his kingdom, nothing. Dean would lay down his life for Sam, sacrifice everything for him. Compared to dying for the sake of his realm, behaving like an adult for a few months isn't that much of a chore.

"Fuck, I am so stupid," Dean groans, shutting his mouth as Ben sends him a look. "I know. Language. And possibly social skills."

Benny's hand lands on his shoulder. Benny pats it a few times, almost reassuringly. If being patted on the shoulder by a vampire in bright daylight is in any way reassuring, that is. "If you say so, Highness," Benny drawls. "I am sure your attempts will be appreciated."

Death doesn't say anything. He sighs. Again. There is so much he needs to learn; how vampires walk in the daylight is the least of it.

"I do say so. You're going to help me, right?" Benny feels like a friend, or like someone who could become one. "I'm going to fuck up again if I have to figure this out by myself," he says, not bothered that Death hears it too. It's true. He needs all the help he can get.

Ben has the audacity to laugh.

"You sure will. Anything you want, brother," Benny says. "Besides, someone has to teach Ben proper behavior and it ain't gonna be you, Prince."

"I am the poster boy for stellar parenting," Dean declares modestly. "Maybe you could become my... can I have like a manservant or something?" Since Dean's not sure how the Dark court works, he is not sure what to ask for, either.

Around them, the swan ship's crew is doing whatever it is it needs to do before they arrive. The huge white swan wings are lowered with the sails, all of them, apart from the smallest one and Death's banner. Dean smiles as he sees the Light Land's banner go up next to it, together with Dean's personal sigil. Benny's crew of hardened vampire guards are gathering. It can't be long now before they are at the shore. Closer to the coastline, a small fleet of white boats seems ready to be put to sea. The swan hovers languidly on the waves, the surf making it more difficult to stand. Dean laughs as one of Death's hounds almost loses control over its long legs. It's only funny because the dog is unharmed, apart from its wounded dignity. The animal stares at Dean, offended by his laughter, and flops down to lie at Death's feet. 

Benny steps closer to the railing, keeping one hand there for support before he turns to Dean with a serious expression. "So you really want to drag me off my boat to be your live-in lexicon? I guess you'll need a private secretary and a master of the household to administer everything in your household. I'll be useless at both."

Dean pouts _maturely_. And he is not sending Benny puppy-eyes at all. Nope. "Please," he begs, ready to make a scene out of going on his knees to make Benny agree. "Think of... think of the children. Child. Ben." 

"Oh, brother, don't do that to me! I'm not cut out to be a courtier. But I can be your friend," Benny says and makes an expression that shows that he's been serving Death for too long. "I could use some time on land, though; I haven't been on shore leave for months. You could invite me to stay, you know, at your..." Benny looks questioningly at the Dark God. "Did Death explain to you about... our realm?"

"I'd like that; a friend." Dean flashes Benny a wide smile, happy that he goaded Benny into his service. "And an explanation. I really need someone help me understand the differences between our realms. I don't want to make more mistakes."

"You would be forever in my gratitude if you accomplish that task, Captain." Death's voice has a slight tinge of annoyance, as if he is very, very tired of dealing with ambassadors from foreign countries. "Since you have already taken upon you to prevent our esteemed guest from continuing his numerous _faux pas_ , do continue the good work, Lafitte."

"Yes, Your Majesty. I'll do my best; I'd not want Prince Dean to feel—"

Dean is listening to Death and Benny with a slight smile. The more he looks at Death, the more he is inclined to think that even though Death might be annoyed that he is so inept at diplomacy, the Dark God actually likes him. It might be that Death understands that the brief lesson in errors and consequence really took. Dean isn't going to pull that shit on Death again. He is not doing anything that can harm his family and the power they hold. And that includes Death as well. He is family too, now that Dean thinks of it, if only through Lucifer.

Maybe it has something to do with Dean's sudden pliancy that he might actually like Death too?

Lost in thought, Dean isn't prepared at all for his next lesson when it comes. 

Dean startles at the loud thunderclap that makes the air vibrate. He gasps and ducks, only too late realizing that there has been no lightning bolt. 

Benny whinces. "By the Light! Death never got to explain that, did he?"

"What in the name of all that's holy was that?"

"Dad?" There is a tinge of fear in Ben's voice, and despite his thirteen years, he isn't too old to reach for Dean's hand. Dean slides his arm protectively around Ben's shoulder, looking for the danger he cannot see.

Dean doesn't have an explanation for Ben. But Benny and Death look unafraid, so Dean looks up, watching the clouds. There, out of the sky comes something akin to birds, but it is not. It is too fast, too unmoving, even though it darts across the sky with impossible speed, a seagull-like shape followed by four more. Dean has never seen anything like the flying objects, and he takes a step back, gasping, refusing to show any anxiety, with little luck. He stares at the big white shapes, unknowingly grasping at Benny's arm. "What is it?" Dean breathes, following the objects with his eyes. "What kind of creatures are they? Are they dangerous?"

Benny sighs. "Death could have prepared you better for this. Those are jets. Flying machines. They carry people and cargo from one place to another. We build them." 

Dean is stunned, watching as the jet machines disappear into the horizon. 

"Did the Mist take them?" Ben asks, relaxing visibly at Dean's side, curious enough to turn and watch for more of the strange jets.

"No. Nothing can go through the Mist but our black ships and the Undead. We tried. Not even our fighter planes can—"

"You have... what are they? How do they fight?" Dean boggles. Everything is too much, too unbelievable. Maybe he's asleep and dreaming?

"Instead of knights and cavalry we have... planes," Benny explains. "Jets. Although it has been a long time since were were at war with anyone."

"Instead of horses? Really? Do they fly by themselves?" Dean is fighting his fear of this unknown concept of machines that cross the sky like birds. It exceeds anything he has ever known. It is entirely surreal. "Is it some kind of magic that makes them hover?"

"No. It has to do with speed, wing surface and upwind, nothing magical about that. A little bit like how sails work on a ship, like how the water keeps them afloat and the wind drives them forward. We can tell the planes where to go from afar, I won't try to explain how, but they don't operate on their own without our say so. We speak to them from the ground. They are here to honor you, Your Highness. Like you'd ask your knights to come meet a foreign dignitary from your neighboring countries east of the Light Land, so do we honor our guests by—"

"Flexing your muscles?"

"You got that right, brother," Benny grins. "Maybe you ain't gonna to be all that difficult to teach after all."

"You'd be the first to think so. My teachers always told me I was hopeless." 

Dean can't stop the smirk that goes with the memory of past misdemeanors. He'd been a horror. Always out riding or hunting: girls, deer, boar. Beer. Well, not girls to begin with. He'd gotten Impala for his fifteenth birthday; somehow his father had thought that he'd be more responsible, having a young, unproven horse to take care of, but Impala had proved fearless and the two of them had faced many an angry boar on a hunt. Impala had been the only girl he'd been truly interested in until he met Lisa. Yeah, he'd been a difficult prince and a foolish king. Dean looks up into the sky again. Perhaps he should have listened more carefully to his professors, then. Or not. Nothing they could have taught him would have prepared him for this. It might only have been a thousand years, but nothing, no one, could have prepared Dean for the divide of development that was created between the realms in such a short time. 

"Can I... I can tell Sam, right?" Dean asks Death. "About the flying machines."

"Imagine that I do believe that you are able to determine the level of information that goes back to your brother," Death says. "I trust you, Prince Dean, despite everything. You know your people, and I am sure you are a better judge than I, deciding the level of technology they can handle. But you do understand now why we have been reluctant to contact the Light Land, sharing our knowledge with you?"

That's a surprise. Death trusts him enough to let him decide? "Yeah, I do. I mean..." Dean waves a hand in the direction of the sky where the flying machines disappeared. "Sam's not a fool, far from. But if I hadn't seen your towers and jets with my own eyes... I guess it takes some time getting used to. Understanding this kind of development, I mean. Plus, letting the Light people know about it—that is not something which should be done in a hurry. We need to ease them into it carefully as not to cause unnecessary fear." 

"Unpolished as you are, you are not entirely without redeeming features, Prince. You might have been a better king, had you had the guidance of your father, may his soul rest in peace," Death says, this time without added sarcasm. "Maybe all hope is not lost when it comes to you. You care for the people, and that is important."

"Well, first of all, I'm king of nothing. Secondly, why have a king at all if he doesn't work for the well-being of his citizens?" Despite all his attempts to escape responsibility, Dean has never for a second forgotten that his duty as king was to the people, hence his abdication. "Sam is better at it, smarter. You should trust him to make the right decision on behalf of the Light Land."

Death makes a nod that almost looks like he approves of Dean's tirade. "I do not know King Sam."

"You don't know me, either."

"In time, I will get to know you." Death pauses, purses his mouth thoughtfully, before he speaks again. "I would not have let you come here if I didn't think that you, too, were able to judge what is, and what is not for the good of the people. I trust Ambassador Ajay. He is of the people, and he's a good judge of character."

"So you _do_ like me a little," Dean can't stop himself from joking. "I don't think your ambassador shares the sentiment, though. But I'm pretty!" Dean sends Death a wide grin. He has no illusions about his abilities, but it's no secret that Dean's good looks have earned him... benefits where his abilities as a ruler did not. 

There is a slight movement of lips, maybe the beginning of a smile, quickly quelled, on Death's mouth. "Yes, you are. Pretty."

For once Dean doesn't know what to say. He stares back at Death, coming up far too late with a few witty remarks that he refuses to give life as not to appear a total idiot, just because the Dark God thinks he looks good. It might be that Death suddenly seems so... human in his appreciation of beauty.

Dean startles when Death reaches for him, a finger under his chin, Dean suddenly unable to move or breathe. "But I think there is more to you than meets the eye. You are more than a handsome face, Prince Dean of Winchester. Do not disappoint me, Dean. You might not want a kingdom, but I value mine and I will not have you making a mess of it."

Death releases him and Dean breathes out, strangely affected and a little shaken. 

No, Death is nothing like he'd thought he'd be.

*

When the flying machines return with a thunderous noise a few minutes later, there are smaller machines accompanying them, strange, insect-like, buzzing little things that follow them towards the shore. The swan ship is close enough now for Dean to see a swarm of people gathering at the docks, Death's banners waving over their heads, the Light's flag and Dean's own banner next to them.

Dean wonders what kind of communication devices Ambassador Ajay has been hiding from them; no doubt a great deal of information about Sam and the Light Land has reached the Dark long before the Black Ship arrived. God or no god, it wouldn't have been possible to prepare a welcome like this in a few hours, nor would Death have been able to communicate to the shore what information Benny and Tessa might have about him and Ben, not without tools that Dean has no knowledge of. The Dark Land has flying machines that they talk to from the ground. Sending messages across the Mist, across realms, doesn't sound entirely impossible. Dean will ask Benny later; if he can get Death to share knowledge about those devices, that sort of improvement will help Sam to rule the Light Land, keeping in contact with desolate areas. Or it could be that the Dark God simply is able to speak to Ambassador Ajay via thought? Everything is so strange and foreign that Dean has to keep an open mind. Death can raise the dead, so why not talk to them through the Mist aided by the mere power of his mind?

Dean decides to concentrate on what he can see with his own eyes. He points at one of the buzzing machines. "Where are they going? What do they do?"

"They are on their way to the palace helipad," Benny explains, pointing at a spot above the towers. "Right up there, across the harbor. They are broadcasting our arrival to the people." Benny pauses for a moment. "They carry tools that can show to the people what is going on here, on the caravel, so that the entire population can see it. If you want to try flying, I can ask Death to take us up in one." 

"And what's a... helipad?" A harbor Dean understands. But who knows; it might mean something else entirely, since in the Dark Land every concept Dean has known has expanded and developed here, changed into something that is neither recognizable by name, nor by function. He studies the small flying things that are so close that he can see people inside them. It is beyond him how they enable the citizens to see this far without binoculars or a telescope, even more so how it is possible to show to so many what only one set of eyes can see, but he has to trust Benny in this.

"A helipad is port for the flying machines. On the palace roof," Death adds. "Prince Dean, I would like you to keep Benny with you at all times. It is understandable that you do not know our society and how it works. Benny will be a great help to you when I cannot be there."

"Oh, a babysitter. And did you just call me an uneducated ignorant again?" Dean demands, offended that Death counts on him to make mistakes, despite the trust he has shown him. "Because frankly it sounded very much like it."

"If I considered you an uneducated ignorant, I'd tell you," Death says with an eyeroll. "In no uncertain terms."

"Well, thank you, Your Majesty, I'd never do anything to displease you." Dean delivers a mocking bow that is partly ruined as the surf takes the ship and rocks it. 

"Your mere being displeases me when you are willfully obtuse." Death sighs tiredly. "I see I have my work cut out for me. Are you _sure_ you do not wish to return to your brother?"

"Aw, no. I wouldn't rob you of my charming company. And I have a job to do, if you don't recall; maybe your age is get—"

"Enough, Prince." Death throws up his hands. "You'll never learn."

"Oh, I learned. Besides, it's too late now." Dean winks cheekily before he turns his attention to the shore again. And what a sight it is up close, when the towers turn into background and the details of the smaller buildings become clear. Dean had not expected... no, he doesn't know what he had expected, but it was not _this_ : the pier is packed with people, a colorful crowd gathered around a raised dais. Musicians, or at least Dean think they are, because he can't see any orchestras, are playing the Light Land's national anthem loud enough for them to hear, even through the noise from the throng of people. The dock is lined with flagpoles flying the Light and the Dark's banners side by side. There are so... many. People, flags, houses. It is obvious that the city is big, bigger than any city in the Light Land. No wonder that the citizens have to live in those odd towers; space seems to be a valued commodity here. 

A line of small huts on wheels catches Dean's attention. Contrary to the towers, these are as colorful as the people. They are red and yellow, blue and green, purple and silver, the merry colors glinting in the sun.

Ben has noted them too. "Are those houses for the poor?" he asks, leaning over the railing so far that Benny pulls him back a little by the neck of his shirt. "They are nicer than our poorhouses." Ben looks questioning at Benny. 

"They are cars," Benny explains. "A car is a small means of transportation, like the flying machines, except they don't fly, they move like a horse carriage."

"But where are the horses?" Ben wants to know. Dean looks at his son with pride. Ben takes everything in stride, calm and curious, but never afraid. 

"Yes, where are the horses?" Dean says. It has to be a chore to fetch horses for so many... _cars_. Then again, maybe horses aren't needed; the flying machines had no discernible aid from birds, either.

"It's a bit complicated," Benny says, "not that I don't think you'd understand, but it takes time to explain the details. There's a motor inside. The motor produces heat, and the heat drives forward the wheels through a system of valves and tubes."

Dean has no idea what Benny is talking about, but he's intrigued. "So you don't have horses at all?" Suddenly he misses Impala something fiercely, but nothing to do about that.

"Oh, yes. But not inside the city; it would be far too dangerous."

Dangerous? When were horses dangerous, except the destriers in battle? Dean tries to wrap his mind around that, too. The Dark Land in truth is strange. Flying carriages, horse-less huts... Dean gives up and decides simply to go with the flow. Nothing of what he has seen is scaring his companions, so Dean decides that until such time as he sees Benny panicking, he is simply going to relax and learn. There is so much he wants to know about the realm and its inhabitants, and he is sure that all he has seen until now is barely a scratch in the surface. As he doesn't know how long Death wants to keep him here, he better learn everything he can, as fast as he can. Sam's gonna want to know... everything, with instructions and details added, Sammy-style. 

The swan ship slides up along the pier, bobbing lightly on the calm water. The smell of the city hits Dean, smells of trees and flowers, of perfume and something strange, something greasy and unclean that unsettles him. It reminds him of the smell of the greasy emissions that seep up from the ground and between rocks in the Light Land. _Steinolia_. Maybe that's what they burn here, to make the flying machines work? The... motors? Apart from the smell, the city smells clean, no stench of garbage or human excretions, no stench of sweat or unwashed bodies. Compared to the Light, the Dark is clean.

Death summons his hounds, standing ready as the sailors lower the gangway. "Dean." He motions with a hand that Dean must walk next to him.

Taking a deep breath, Dean steps up next to Death; his equal, even though he is king no longer. 

"You are our honored guest," Death says quietly. "Be good. If you are able." There is a twinkle in his eyes when Dean nods.

"I promise. Or I'll have to listen to you bitch for hours about how rude I am," Dean whispers, leaning in close enough to get a weak whiff of Death's scent, all leather and vanilla and fresh air. "I can hardly wait."

"Neither can I," Death says, just as quietly, all the power of his voice turned into a sarcasm as thick and dangerous as the Mist. "Neither can I."

*

Dean walks with Death down the gangway, cheers and greetings shouted at them, flowers thrown before their feet as they walk across the dock, along the red carpet that stretches all the way from the swan ship to the first of the white towers. The Dark Land knows how to welcome a guest. Dean dons his royal mask, a professional smile on his face as he waves at the crowd. He shakes a few hands, kisses a baby that some young woman holds up.

"We named him Dean after you, your royal highness," she tells him. "It's good to finally see you here."

"Sweet," he tells her and pulls a heavy gold ring off his finger and gives it to her. "For my namesake, may he have a happy life."

Damn. The kid is at least a month or two old. Death and his ambassador have spoken together the whole time, written letters or whatever kind of devices they have used. Dean feels cheated. He doesn't think there is any malice behind the secrecy, only safety. But Death has done a good job of priming the Dark Land's people for his arrival. Who in their right mind would name their child after a person they don't like?

Dean reaches for Ben. "My son," he tells the mother of the young Dean. "Prince Benjamin." She smiles at him again, and Dean squeezes Ben's hand and doesn't let go. It's so good to be able to have Ben with him and put behind them all the heritage trouble that Ben was a part of. Here, he is Dean's son, a prince, and not someone that needs to be hidden away like an unwanted, scurvy puppy. 

"It's going to be okay, Dad." Ben squeezes back as they step up to the dais, surrounded by an unknown city, unknown people. 

On the dais two men stand, clearly somebody important since they are the only ones on the dais, servants and officials milling around below. One is short and handsome, quick to smile and with golden mercury eyes, filled with mirth and laughter. The other... Dean misses a step as he stares at the taller man. He can't remember to have seen a more handsome man in his entire life. Behind the men, something like a mirror shows Dean's own face, stunned, hundred times bigger than it is, and Dean can't even be bothered to contemplate the magic, or non-magic, in favor of staring at the man in front of him.

Then Death steps forward, leading Dean up the stairs to the shorter of the two men. 

"Prince Gabriel, meet the Light Land's ambassador, former King of the Light, Crown Prince Dean, Duke of Winchester and his son, Prince Benjamin Braeden."

"Pleased and all that." Prince Gabriel rolls his eyes, and it makes Dean like him instantly. "How was the boating trip? Frigging annoyance that our engineers have yet to come up with a way to go through the Mist. Our friend Benny here is going to be fat before we're done traveling back and forth between the realms."

Dean laughs as Benny makes a derisive snort behind him. Maybe Benny is used to Prince Gabriel's less than perfect court manners. Dean grasps Prince Gabriel's hand, feeling like he's met a kindred spirit. "I can hear I'm not the only one not so fond of all the formal shi— All the formality of the court."

"You got that right, bro. Good thing I wasn't the heir to this dump to begin with. I'd have fled that destiny in a heartbeat, I tell you. Not like my big brothers; they _lurve_ it!"

"Yeah, exactly," Dean agrees. "Good thing, too, that my brother was willing to take on the responsibility because I sure would have fucked it up. Now he's King Sam, and I'm just his unruly loser brother."

"So Lucifer really is married to the new King of Light?" Suddenly there is a tinge of sadness in Prince Gabriel's voice, as if the marriage doesn't sit well with him. "Is he happy with your Sam?"

Dean thinks that Lucifer is. What he doesn't know is _why_. "He seems to worship the ground my brother walks upon, so I believe he is," Dean replies. He'd like to ask Prince Gabriel if he doesn't want Lucifer to have found happiness, but for once he manages to keep his big mouth closed as not to create more trouble for himself and for Death than he did already. Instead he smiles. "My brother is happy with Lucifer. I've never seen Sam more at ease, more comfortable. It's like Sam and your brother were made for each other, light and dark coming together."

"I am glad for it," Prince Gabriel says. "But Lucifer is both light and dark, despite being the Light God's avatar. He has both darkness and the power of light in him. I hope it is enough. I hope that the King of the Light's love is enough to sate him."

Dean frowns. It really sounds to him like Prince Gabriel is not content with Lucifer's marriage; then again Lucifer _did_ stab his own little brother when he fled, so maybe Prince Gabriel is more aware of any darkness that Lucifer contains than anybody else in the combined realms. Or maybe the two simply hate each other by principle. Could be.

Maybe Death senses Dean's discomfort, because he takes Dean's arm and gently turning him to greet the other man on the dais. 

"Prince Dean, let me introduce you to Michael, my nephew and Crown Prince of the Dark Land, leader of the Dark army, slayer of Dragons. He is the Prince Consort Lucifer's older brother."

Ignoring the litany of titles, Dean is yet again hit by strange information he has to process. "Come on, _dragons_? I mean..." 

"And I am so pleased to meet my uncle's..." Prince Michael raises an eyebrow when his gaze strays to Death before his eyes settle on Dean again. "Never mind. You didn't mention that Prince Dean was this handsome." 

At Michael's words, Dean is sure he's gaping, embarrassing both himself and Death, when Prince Michael takes his hand, squeezing it. "If you are interested in dragons, I could show you," Michael offers.

"Er, thank you," Dean manages, pulling his hand out of Prince Michael's handshake, one that is a little too long and too intimate to be comfortable. "Maybe another time?"

"Anything for you, Prince Dean." Prince Michael bows, a very formal bow. "I think Lucifer was right. The Light and the Dark cannot be without the other, and a union between us is bound to happen, especially after we have kept apart for so long. Another connection between—" Prince Michael hesitates, once more taking in Dean's appearance, so obviously pleased with what he sees that Dean can feel heat rising in his cheeks by the onslaught of Prince Michael's obvious desire for him. "—our realms is most important. The Dark was created to let the Light shine, Prince. I want nothing more than to be allowed to do the same for you; to be the one to make _your_ light shine."

Dean doesn't know what to say. What he does know is that he has just been proposed to in some roundabout way, and he is not sure he likes it.

One look at Death tells Dean that he is not the only one.


End file.
